Saturday, February 15, 2014

A Thank You Letter from the Dog

This is Georgia. Have you met her before? She's our 1.5 year old Great Dane. She is a fantastic dog. Really. One that breaks the best dog mold.

We bought her from a breeder near Dallas. She was from an oops litter; her mother was not supposed to breed due to a bad bite and her dad was not yet full grown though he was on the show ring circuit. 30 seconds of breeder ignorance later and we had a show quality pet for $500 less.

She is perfect.

Well, she is now.

Despite her pedigree, she came home with one annoying, disgusting, expensive malfunction.

Her, um, back end, her um, perineum, was a bit droopy. So droopy in fact that you could not see her girlie bits. Her official diagnosis was "severe hooded vuvla".

(TMI. So sorry. But this fact is vital to the rest of this post. Stick with me....)

Over the Christmas break, we took Georgia home to our favorite vet surgeon, Doctor Miller, in Durham, N.C. He was able to fix her right up and make her problems all go away.

(He also discovered that she had an unperforated hymen, that he also, um, "corrected", hence the buying of dinner in the letter below. Eww. Sorry.)

Two months later and Georgia is healed and doing great. Here is her thank you letter to Dr. Miller.

Hope you all enjoy it:

Dear
Doc,

So
I hear you're the one to blame
thank for fixing the problem with my, um, parts.

At
first I wasn't sure how to feel about you. We were complete
strangers and then you were very
up in my personal space. (You still owe me dinner.) Then I went to
sleep, and when I woke up you were there maybe,
and my back end was very sore. I was confused and didn't know how
you and my back end were related.

And
then my person put this plastic spaceship from hell
on my neck and I forgot all about you.

Sorry.

But
time has gone by and my girlie bits seem much better. I don't itch
or drip things anymore, and I lick myself a normal amount instead
of all of the time. And
my dog friends play with me now instead of following behind me,
sniffing, like gosh darn circus elephants on parade. I appreciate
that.

My
favorite
human says I'm much better, too. Good. Now she can do us all a
favor and stop looking at my va-jay-jay all of the time. (I think
she's weird. Don't tell her that.)

(Oh,
and my humans are all jumped up about some move or something to an
island or somewhere I can't understand. But if you want to visit, I
approve, and I promise not to lick you, eat your food, or lean on you
too hard.)